Gateways of Bereavement
by nedfan
Summary: A city under siege from the hatred of a few, a team trying to stop the unimaginable, a relationship that finally starts to blossom: when time is running out, something's got to give.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** The characters of Sue Thomas F.B. Eye as they appear are the creation and spiritual property of Pebblehut Productions Inc. and PAX. This tale that derivates from said show is my creation, the original show has been used to inspire. All other characters presented are mine; all characters are fictional. Any resemblance to real existing people is a coincidence and isn't intended to be harmful/troublesome in any way. Presented facts, figures, translations and geographical places such as streets, towns, scenery e.g. are existing and real and checked for their accuracy.

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**Author's Note:** This story has started as a spin off of a challenge presented earlier this year, and led to the creation of a story I had been wanting to write for at least a year. It deals with a sensitive topic that sadly has seen variations of it inflicted to many innocent people around the world. I wish to express that although Gateways of Bereavement has Islamic Terrorism as it main focuspoint, I have no intention whatsoever to portray Islam as an intolerant/violent religion. Education I have had taught me the true character of this inspiring faith: an insight I sought to share through this story.

Inevitably, it means this story will have moments of angst, violence, degradation, but I tried to avoid the 'easy thrill' and not overdo anything. The main rating for Crime/Suspense is T and in some places borders M due to 'visuals'

Romantically, the main pairing is Jack and Sue based, a ship I find easy to write but not necessarily THE ship of the show. As it is grown custom with my stories, Gateways will deal with Deaf issues, will see American Sign Language next to English and other languages. Translations are provided. Main rating for Romance is T, but has moments of M for intimacy.

Gateways of Bereavement is an exercise in 'off the cuff'-writing. I've come a long way but have still a long way to go until completion. '

I would like to thank in advance you, the reader, for showing interest and attention and I can only hope you'll have as much entertainment in reading as I have in writing. Any writer loves feedback, good or bad, that helps improve elements of the story, show appreciation of one's efforts etc. You're welcomed to review, if you feel like it. If not, thanks for reading anyway!

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Gateways of Bereavment

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-oOo-

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Rainbow Crossing

(Rufus Wainwright)

_Well since you are my arch enemy, I'm gonna give you some time_

_With a heart that's full of alcohol water can be wine_

_Hope the rocks are not too slippery, when through the center I slay_

_Won't you stand in straight as an evergreen, when it all gives way_

_Brace yourself, this whole world will spin about_

_Since I'm the raft side of this pleasure_

_Those who have the sense to fear of me are the dark prince_

_And you are the peasant_

_Wait for me on the rainbow crossing_

_'Cause I need you there for me to meet the maker_

_Finally, I will see your person, but my greatest fear are your shining features_

_So much time and crime that I've grown to love_

_Your fiery nation everywhere_

_On the rainbow crossing you can check your spears, your bows and arrows_

_Meet me there above the river flowing and we'll enter in with greatest zeros_

_Though they say Valhalla ain't what it used to be_

_Still I recollect it can't be all that bad_

_No, it can't be any worse than a world without a friend_

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**Alt. 400 Ft, Above Foggy Bottom, Washington DC**

**March 22****nd**** 2007, 7.43 AM**

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Somehow, the Rufus Wainwright song had crept in his head, and he was unable to get rid of it; its contents summing up what they were facing with an unnerving accuracy.

Flying a few hundred feet above the splendour of the nation's capital, the magnificent scenery of the Mall and the rigid geometrical patterns of the city below were lost on him. His mind kept humming three words over and over: _we lost them_

The Sikorsky UH-60 Blackhawk began its slow curve over the Potomac, flying past Abraham Lincoln's Memorial. The ascending sun dyed everything in colours of red and gold, the rays illuminating the interior of the helicopter and bouncing off the glass visor of the Specialist next to him. The waters of the curving river reflected the sun's rays in a blinding golden shine, making the river seem like an endless curl of blonde hair, reminding him of the woman he loved, and whom he might never see again.

If they failed.

The brightness of the newborn sun would be overcome by a light more blinding than a thousand suns combined. The warming rays making way for incinerating heat, death and suffering. The splendour turned to smouldering ashes. About the human toll he didn't even dare to think.

A city incapable of running away, hiding from the hatred of a few, with the desire and drive to destroy all. Pressed forward by their prophecies and beliefs, with no fear in their hearts and minds to die in the process. And with ruthless accuracy and determination to succeed.

Special Agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigation Jack Hudson, of the District of Columbia branch, had the equal determination to succeed, but unlike his opponents, he was afraid. Afraid of what this dawning day would bring, of the future. Afraid for his loved ones. Afraid of Death.

He forced himself to snap out of his reverie and leaned forward towards the Pilots "Take this bird down a bit and make a parallel flight over New Hampshire Avenue towards Northeast," he ordered. The helicopter set course to the east.

"Sam 36 to Sam 1, anything from Sam 33 and 31?"

"No Jack, they lost track of them as well," Tara Williams, the team's computer and communications specialist answered, the nervousness and anxiousness palpable in the pitch of her voice, and the fact she forgot about standard procedure and codes.

"We'll find them, Tara," he said, his voice soothing, but he wasn't sure whether it actually did. His throat was constricted, his stomach knotted, he felt the drops of cool sweat running down his back, and over his cheeks. Even though the combat gear was warm, Jack knew he wasn't sweating from the heat. He felt the cold drops of growing fear, each one of them felt as if Death put an icy needle in his flesh.

"CentCom just announced Phoenix SAD has a possible sighting, near 17th and Desales Northwest," Tara practically yelled into his earpiece. "They're heading for 1600!"

"South! South!" The UH-60 took such a sharp turn, Jack and the others were swept sideways in their seats, and for a brief moment, his upper body hung out of the opened side doors.

"CentCom has given Code Red to Phoenix SAD, Code Red."

Jack briefly closed his eyes, the order had been given he had always feared to hear. Code Red meant the Search and Destroy squads of the 'Night Stalkers' 160th SpecOps Aviation Division had the clearance to wipe out every suspect vehicle, person, building that could pose a threat in the area the Standing Order covered, with no exceptions, no mercy and no questions asked.

Only now mattered.

In the densely populated area of downtown Washington, it meant death and destruction, fire-fights and shoot-to-kill-policy let loose right in the midst of unknowing public. The cost could be heavy, Jack feared, but the alternative was….

"Oh, fuck…" the co-pilot suddenly yelled. A blinding light seared through DC's skies, it was whiter than the whitest snow, more blinding than the brightest sun. Out of instinct the men tried to shield their eyes with their hands as the light intensified, surrounding the helicopter, fading out everything that once had been visible.

_Al-__Qari'a_: Judgement Day….

"Sue!..."


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you for the reviews on this one, I'm actually very thrilled to write this story, even when it's more 'off-the-cuff' than anything I've done before. I hope you'll enjoy the ride as much as I have in creating it. **

**Further on, any Italic is Arabic, the translation or explanation is provided in between brackets. Thanks for reading!**

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Prélude

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**Village of ****Bar Sengani, Pachir Wa Agam District** (near Tora Bora)

**Nangarhar Province, Afghanistan****, December 19****th**** 2001**

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The small group of men gathered in the inner compound of the _Quala_ (Afghan traditional fortified village) looked up when a distant roar rolled down the mountain slopes of the Safed Koh (White Mountains). High above, above Spin Ghar in the east, they saw the condensation stripes the B52's engines left behind in the air as the US Air Force bombarded this Eastern section of Afghanistan, to root out the Taliban fighters, and 9/11 mastermind Osama Bin Laden, who was thought to reside in this arid and forbidden region.

The bombs' detonations echoed through the valleys, and in the bluish distant horizon of the rugged terrain the bellowing clouds of dark smoke were visible that rose from where they had fallen. One of the men reached for his AK-47 assault rifle.

"_Insha Allah (By God's Will)_, we're safe from the Infidels' bombs here," the group eldest said as he laid his hand on the younger man's arm. He could, however, understand his nervousness. Just a week before, they had escaped from Coalition's attacks on their stronghold and suffered losses as a result of that. Al Qaeda combatants and Taliban fighters, like them, had fled when US and British Special Forces and Anti-Taliban Tribal fighters had launched their offensive.

Battered, bruised but not defeated, they had regrouped, knowing their knowledge of the terrain was superior to the Americans, and thus their means of survival were secured.

The ungoverned Tribal Area that extended from the Southeast of Kabul across the border into neighbouring Pakistan (Waziristan e.g.) was literally a safe haven for the band of men that had seen exclusion from major parts of Afghanistan after late November where they had once been free to roam the land.

"_Insha Allahi, Alrrahmeeni _(_By God's Will, the Merciful_)_,_ we'll prevail," the group's leader said as another roar echoed through the mountains. "We will defeat the _Kaffír_ (Infidels), and the blood of them, their sons and daughters, their mothers and fathers, their brothers and sisters will soak the soil, and it will dye their rivers red." Sheikh Khalid Muhammad Siddiq, born and raised in Southern Waziristan (Pakistan), waved his finger admonishingly to the group of men sitting in front of him. 45-year old Muhammad Siddiq was a gifted _Imam_ (Leader of the Prayers) who had received a thorough schooling in the _Madrasah_ (Islamic School) of Islamabad's _Lal Masjid_ (Red Mosque): a place of radical Islamists from all over Pakistan, Afghanistan and elsewhere.

It was there were _Mujahideen_ (Islamic Fighters) were recruited throughout the Afghan-Soviet War of the 1980's. Later it became the recruiting centre and breeding ground for the Taliban (Islamic Students) Movement that would occupy vast sections of Afghanistan and provide shelter for Osama Bin Laden cum suis.

It was there where Muhammad Siddiq just over three months ago had watched the scenery unfold on that bright and sunny morning when everything had changed.

"_Allahu Akhbar (God's Great)_," they had exclaimed, almost drunk with joy when Mohammad Atta al-Sayed, Marwan al-Shehhi crashed United Airlines 175, and American Airlines 11 into respectively the South and North Tower of the World Trade Center on the morning of September 11th. And where Hani Hanjour followed suit when UA Flight 77 crashed into the symbol of American military might and dominance: the Pentagon.

UA Flight 93 with Ziad Jarrah on board ended in a field near Shanksville, PA, missing the objective now suspected to be the US Capitol, but forever gaining fame as heroic _Shuhada _(Martyrs) along with the 16 others.

The bopping sound of a helicopter's rotors hammering through the air was coming closer. Experience told the men it was twin-engine, a Boeing CH-47 Chinook, on reconnaissance perhaps. "The eye of the Kaffir is preying," Mohammad Siddiq said, "but he's alone and unaware of us."

"We can take it down, _Insha Allah_," a fighter said as he took his weapon, an American made FIM-92 Stinger Surface-to-Air missile launcher. The weapons were once distributed by the CIA to Afghan Mujahideen fighters in the 1980's for use against Russian aircraft. A bitter irony was that they were now used against US aircraft too.

"Patience, if it comes too close, we'll finish it, if not we don't need to alert the _Kaffir_ of our presence," Mohammad Siddiq said. "We have bigger plans that need no disturbance."

He stared out over the mountainous slopes, watching the setting sun. He smiled. "The Infidels have seen a day of wrath, but _Insha Allah_, their ordeal will be bigger than ever before."

He turned round to face his men again. "Barsaat Salagna Allahu, (God's Rain of Fire)" he said in Urdu, his native tongue and that of many Taliban, "will fall upon the Infidels white marble thrones and temples. Their eyes will be blinded, their gardens destroyed."

Mohammad Siddiq picked up his Koran, and began to recite _Al-Qari'ah_, while the men listened. The droning sound of the helicopter fading away until it had fully vanished. "_Insha Allah_, we have the _shuhada_ ready. The _Jihad (Struggle, /- Holy War)_ will be brought to their doorsteps. The Empire of Evil is in a hurry to destroy us, but we have the time. We will strike again, have patience my fellow _Mujahideen_….." Mohammad Siddiq said as he closed his Koran again. He gestured for the men to stand up. "We move before the light of a new day begins, the eye of the _Kaffir_ has not found us yet."

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**Note: **The word Jihad is usually translated as 'Holy War', but in Arabic, Jihad means a variety of things. The concept of _Jihad_ is mistakenly thought to be just the Holy War: in fact _Jihad_ means 'Personal Journey', and can be anything from a pilgrimage to doing charity work, and fighting for the safety of loved ones and/or Islam when threatened.


	3. Chapter 3

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****Three years earlier:**

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**M36 Motorway near Yuzhno-uralsk, **

**Chelyabinsk District, Russian Federation, November 2****nd**** 1998, 11.32 PM**

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The deserted motorway reflected the soft light of the full moon, the winds and curves of the tarmac that rolled out over the land making it almost seem like a black frozen river amidst the freshly fallen white snow that covered the fields and forests of this part of the former USSR.

One car, a Soviet-made jeep, cautiously driving down the road was the only thing that disturbed the peace and quiet of the bitter cold countryside. Its headlights lighting the road ahead, the plume from the exhaust clearly visible in the night.

Near a sharp curve in the road, the car stopped. Two men got out, dressed in Russian army gear, the red palette on their shoulders giving away their ranks. One of them, a Colonel, walked over to the side of the road.

"Почему мы останавливались здесь? (_Why did we stop here_?)" the Lieutenant that stood near the car asked. The Colonel turned round to face him.

"Поскольку это прекрасно, (_because it is perfect_).There's a fifty meter drop at this point, that should be enough to take care of things."

The Lieutenant joined him. "You sure?"

"Sure, Leonid, just push the car over, and it will look as if it missed the curve and crashed, unfortunately killing the driver."

"Я выведу механизм, (_I'll get the gear out)_."

"Let's put our friend in the driver's seat shall we?" the Colonel said to the other he had called Leonid. He opened the rear passenger's door. Slumped on the back seat was the body of another man, clad in exactly the same uniform as himself. He reached inside and pulled the limp body out by its arms. He dragged the body to the driver's seat and put it on the seat, then he pushed the legs inside the car too, and positioned the body more erect into the seat. He pulled on the steering wheel and turned the tires to the right, towards the cliff. He reached inside to get something, and then he closed the door again.

Leonid, meanwhile, had pulled out a metal suitcase from the booth of the car and planted it on the hard-shoulder. The Colonel summoned him to come over. "Come, we'll push it down, if you take this side, we'll have this job done in seconds. Leonid walked over to his side.

"You ready?"

Leonid nodded.

"Good, now there's only one more thing to do," he said.

"What's that?" Leonid asked as he put his hands on the car to push it forward.

"This," the other said and he hit him on the back of his head with a hammer. Leonid grunted and dropped to the tarmac, blood oozing down his face. "Sorry, мои друг, (_my friend)_, looks like you're going to enjoy the ride too. We left with two, and so we'll crash with two."

He dragged the limp body of Leonid to the passenger's side and put him into the car too, the slumped body of the man leaning with his head on the dashboard. Then he picked a flare out of his pocket and lighted it. He threw it into the car on the rear seat. Then he closed the door.

He waited for a little while for the fire to pick up enough to ensure it would burn fiercely once the car had crashed and the gasoline that would be spilled would add to the inferno. He pushed the car to the edge of the cliff, and with a little groan, the front tires slipped over the edge and the car began falling down, its interior brightly lit by the now raging fire.

The sound of the crashing car, the twisting metal, was somewhat dampened by the snow, but as the gasoline tank burst the car exploded in a roaring fireball. He felt the heat touching his face, the shockwave of the explosion pushed him back a little.

The car was now a raging fireball fifty meters below and the flames consumed both the car and its passengers, until recognition would be impossible. The yellow glow of the fire illuminated his face, the clouds of air he breathed contrasting sharply in the cold night. With a satisfied smile he turned around and walked back to where the suitcase was standing. He picked it up and began walking back to where they had come from.


	4. Chapter 4

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Rock Creek Park Horse Centre

**5100 Glover Road NW, Washington DC, November 2****nd**** 2006, 10 AM**

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_What in the world did you get yourself into? _He sat on one of the chairs in the lounge, watching as a few people were riding in the indoor rink. Jack Hudson took a swig of his coffee, as if the blackish liquid would provide him with the necessary courage. He looked down to his attire. Okay, maybe not too extraordinary. He figuredjeans would do the trick as well as riding breeches. Not that I even have a pair.

He finished his cup and got up to get a new one.

"You're not planning on pulling out, are you?" he heard a slightly mocking voice behind him, the warm timbre rippling pleasantly through his spine. Jack turned round.

"Hee-haw, cowboy," Sue Thomas, Special Investigative Assistant of the FBI said, smiling broadly. "You look mighty _spiffy_, as Bobby would say."

Jack looked at her attire, smoke-blue breeches, shiny polished black leather dress boots, light-blue windbreaker on, her blonde hair in a ponytail. His heart beating a little faster as he did. Sue had an impeccable choice in wardrobe, and today was no exception. _She looked stunning._ He looked at his own clothes again. "Thanks, once again you outsmart me in the clothing department," he said. Sue put her cap on the table he had been sitting, with her gloves. "Didn't know you had all this gear."

"I bought most of it when I got here, except for the dress boots. My dad had them shipped from Europe as a Christmas gift." She pulled her booted leg up a little, on the upper shaft a shiny little 'P' in gold, and wiggled the toe. "They're handmade in the Netherlands, and according to my dad, they were awfully expensive."

"I bet they were," he said. "With all this Classic gear I take it you don't do Western riding?"

Sue shook her head, her blonde ponytail sweeping a little from one side to the other. "No, my equestrian centre was English Schooled."

He held up his empty cup. "YOU WANT SAME?"

Sue nodded. "THANK YOU, SUGAR ONLY" she replied. He went over to the bar and returned a little while later with two cups and brownies. "You're thoroughly spoiling me," she said smiling as she picked one of the brownies from the plate. "Who said they're yours?" he teased. "I should be keeping them all for myself, as a little revenge for getting me into this."

Sue laughed, her head titled a little backwards, her smile contagious. And the sound of her laugh tickled his inner most. "Oh, Hudson, you sneak, if I remember correctly _you_ boasted about your riding skills."

The twinkle in his eyes said _touché_. "Only because a certain blonde sighed once, upon seeing a few riders with horses in the park, that she would love to ride here but had no one to go with. And pleading puppy-dog eyes did the rest."

She lightly swatted his arm. "I did _not_ make puppy-eyes, DEVIL YOU…"

"PAH, PLEADING EYES, US HERE NOW_…(I fell for your puppy eyes, and now we're here)."_

"I prefer valid arguments for you to pick up riding again," Sue said still smiling as she took a sip of her coffee. "After all, it had been a while, you said."

"TRUE, TIME HOME ME RIDE HORSE OCCASIONAL. (_At home I rode every once-in-a-while)_ " He looked at her. "TIME fs. DC YOU RIDE YOU? _(Do you ride here in DC?)__ "_

She nodded. "THEREFORE CLOTHES HAVE ME."

"Makes sense," he said. He finished his cup. "READY?" She nodded and picked up her cap and gloves. "Next time we're going, maybe you should wear something else but jeans."

"Let's just survive this time, okay?" he joked. She laughed, and together they walked to the stables to get their rented horses ready.

Rock Creek Park, with its fields and forests, the creeks and impeccable maintained bridleways was an absolute joy to be riding in. The slightly sloping terrain was ideal for trailing, and even though the Park itself was only twelve miles from the centre of Washington, it was as if they were much further away from city-life. Despite the numerous visitors of the various attractions within the Park, during their trail, they encountered only one small group of people. A couple of times, Sue dared him into a full gallop, the hoofs of the horses hammering the ground beneath as they sped forwards.

He felt the power of the animals, the wind in his face and the sight of his attractive blonde partner leading the way, smile on her face and happy, made his heart beat faster than it already did. A feeling he enjoyed; sharing a passion with someone who holds a special place in your heart and seeing that person enjoying too was something money wasn't able to buy. Ever. They let their horses slow down to a canter.

_It was really amazing how fast you picked up the tricks of the trade again_, Jack thought as he led the horse where Sue was going. She had been here before, and knew the way to some great spots to relax a little, she had said.

"You seem to manage just fine," she said, when his horse was next to her, walking slowly.

"It seems the feeling comes back without having to think about it," he said. "Where're we going by the way?"

"You'll see," she said, a mysterious smile dancing around her lips.

"Am I going to enjoy it?" he probed. The motion of their horses made it a little harder to follow, but Sue arched her brows a little, a twinkle in her eyes. "That depends. Did you like it so far?" He nodded. "It's great. I never knew I would actually miss it."

"Then I'm sure you'll like the rest too."

He grinned. "Anything devious planned Miss Thomas?" Sue stuck out her tongue. "Just make sure you can catch up, then you'll see." She tapped her horse's flank with the heels of her riding boots to canter, slid back her right boot a little, just after the girth while keeping her left in its place and pushed the horse into a gallop. Sue leaned a little forwards, standing in her stirrups to enable her horse to go even faster.

She looked around for a brief moment to see if he followed. Her smile broadened when she saw he was actually just behind her, determination set on his face, along with a wide grin. _Oh, yes, she had found the right one_.


	5. Chapter 5

**Gee, I can't believe how much time has gone by since I posted anything useful here on FF net, besides the odd comment on other stories. If you're still following this story: thank you for your perseverance! If you're not following it; I got you into reading this now, didn't I? Anyway, long overdue: a new post. Thank you for reading, and you're welcomed to leave feedback, if only to bash me for not updating.... **

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It had always been like this, the leading and leaded. Sometimes she was the first, sometimes the latter. But never left out. She had been captured by him quite shortly after she had joined the FBI about four years ago. A sensational feeling of finding someone who challenged you to bring out the best you got, where others never did and who took you for who you are. No strings attached, no judgements, but acceptance and understanding. His willingness to learn American Sign Language, the language of her heart and what she considered to be her 'native tongue' contributed to that.

That capture smouldered into more during the time they spent together on various cases, until she finally could no longer deny she was no longer 'captured', but head over heels in love with her mentor and training Agent. She loved him for who he was, for what he did for her, had done and would be doing.

The fact that Jack Hudson was quite a treat in the old looks department was a very nice bonus to that, she had to admit. But it would always be second best.

Months after she had very nearly moved away to New York and accept the job offer, thus effectively having everything she had grown to know and love in DC left behind –a sacrifice she found herself unable to make- it had seemed the momentum of 'coming closer', with Jack very nearly letting her know his feelings for her, had actually backfired. Instead of what she had hoped that would have happened, it seemed he had backed away from getting more personal. Backed away from her, except for work-related purposes.

Desperation almost set in as the casual, informal day-to-day routine returned into their relationship. The fire dying down, before it got the chance to flare up. Sue had realised that waiting for him to make the first move was not the desired way to achieve something her heart and mind longed for. She had sworn to take matters in her own hands.

Sue let her horse halt near a few recreational benches that were located just down a steep slope, at the shores of a small lake. She swung her leg over her horse's back and jumped from the saddle. She took the reins and tied them to a nearby tree. Jack did the same. She took off her helmet and gloves, and unclipped the girth to remove the saddle. She placed it on the ground, near her helmet. She sat down on the bench, and patted on the wood for him to join her. He sat down next to her. "PLACE HERE OFTEN YOU?"

"PLACE BEAUTIFUL, BECOME SETTLE (peaceful) ME THINK, _(I find it beautiful and peaceful here)"_ she said.

He let his eyes wander over the Autumn-coloured trees, the still waters of the lake in front of him, the leafs of the birches, beeches and oaks colouring the water with a multiplicity of shades of red, orange and yellow. The hard-blue sky reflecting in the water, copying the view he had, only then reversed. He looked at Sue again.

Her eyes were soft, her gaze peaceful as she took in the scenery, revelling in the beauty of it, her mind a million miles away, a content smile dancing on her lips. She blinked slowly, and Jack found himself having his breath caught halfway by the beauty of her sitting there.

If it was something she had taught him, it was to be amazed by the wonders of the world, the beauty of things. And that appearances could indeed be deceptive when it came to judging people. Up until then, it had been too easy for him to dismiss those feelings, to look at the world but not noticing things right in front of him, taking them for granted. Work-focused, but in the process of failing to enjoy life as well. Until she had walked into his life and changed him for the better.

"Uhm, Jack, staring is still considered to be rude," she scolded.

"It is?" He feigned innocence.

Sue chuckled, "you were practically undressing me, mister." He arched his brows and a devious smile split his face from side to side. "Now _there's_ a thought…" She swatted his upper arm. "Jack!"

"After all," he continued, "you said I would like the rest now we're here."

She took his hands in hers and pulled him to his feet as she got up too. "Come."

"Whereto?" Even though he was used to handle things, this time he didn't mind leaving control over to her. There had been a significant change in her demeanour lately. She seemed determined, and their 'dinner dates' had become much more than just having something to eat together. She made him stop once they were near the water. She looked straight into his eyes, something smouldering in the depths of hers. "I can't keep myself restrained anymore, Jack," she said. "I don't want to anymore either." She pulled him closer and tilted her head a little, her face inches from his until her lips captured his in an enthralling kiss. Her tongue was demandingly on his lips, he was a little surprised at the boldness of her move, but he enjoyed it nevertheless and he granted her access to roam where he had longed for, but never took the necessary steps to achieve. She explored his mouth, her tongue ravaging his, and the passion she shared through her kiss ravaged the rest of his body and soul. When they parted for air, breathing heavily, he noticed her usually shy looks had gone. _She looked almost_ _daring_ he thought, _wanting me to react_.

"That," he said, "was something I liked indeed." He smiled, narrowed his eyes a little as he mustered the blonde that had stolen his heart standing before him. "What did I do to deserve it?" Sue cast her eyes downward for just a fraction of a second.

"Going with me today, the times before and for a whole lot more," she answered. "But one of them is the fact I would have had to wait until the end of times for you to finally say what you had been meaning to say a little over a year ago."

"So what you're saying is I was a little slow on the uptake?" he said.

"Not the uptake of things, the aftermath…..you never finished what you started to say," Sue said, and even though she tried to suppress it he could hear the faintest of crack in her voice as she said it.

"I'm sorry," he began. But she pressed him against a nearby oak, he felt the ribs of the wood on his back as Sue laid her head on his chest and just held him close. He couldn't help but to press his nose in her hair and inhale her scent, his eyes closed, feeling her warm body completing and matching every curve in his body.

"Don't say sorry," she nearly whispered. "Just say the words that I need to hear from you." She looked back up again in his eyes, her gaze probing. Her fire burning within, her hopes and expectations smouldering in them.

The memories of that hapless attempt in the hallway came back to him, and he had to smile. What he couldn't express then, he could now. Of that he had become confident. Today had proved once again just how much things had changed between them. The loaded atmosphere of cautiously dancing around each other, not willing to go in first, the anxiety of being wrong; it had disappeared ever since she had become more confident and determined in their relationship.

He smiled at her. "I may not be dressed as the knight in white shining armour, but everything else the cliché says is true." He leaned over and his lips found her forehead where he pressed the most gentle of kisses on. Sue closed her eyes when he did, feeling the warmth radiating from that tiny spot throughout her body. It did the trick more than any stormy kiss would have done. "TIME FINISH TELL YOU ME WANT, _(I wanted to tell you then)"_ he said. "fs. MYLES COME ME SCARED TINY FINISH _(When Myles came in I got cold feet)."_ He let his hand trail down her cheek, down her neck. "FINISH TIME ALL TELL YOU ME WANT fs. ILY _(All this time I had wanted to tell you that I love you)__"_

Sue pulled him close, her hands cupping his face as she took full advantage of the fact he wouldn't mind. As they parted again, she was smiling. "That wasn't that difficult was it?"

Jack threw back his head as he laughed. "SIGN, SAY SAME-SAME," he said. "It seems to be easier the second time round. In any language." She held his hand, content and confident in what they had was real. "You want to go back?" she asked after a while.

"I'm perfectly okay staying here, with you."

"I know, but we rented the horses for three hours, they still have to get us back."


	6. Chapter 6

********

**Erm, what can I say? Totally been out of writing anything for nearly a year now... The surplus of stories written out is vast, but the effort to publish anything was absent... Let's try to give it a go again. Here's one step. Thanks for reading, reviewing and so on!**

* * *

**Chemin Du Plan-Bouchard/Rue de la Mairie**,

**Ville de Thérèse-de-Blainville, Québec, Canada, November 2****nd**** 2006, 1.45 PM**

* * *

On the baseball-field opposite of the Parc Équestre de Blainville the chilling wind made the spectators huddle together for more shelter, provided by the nearby hedges that stood alongside the old

_Chemin de Fer_, (railroad tracks) that ran from Sainte-Thérèse-Ouest and Boisbriand (just north of Montréal) all the way to Saint-Jérôme. The rumbling of a commuter train passing by made the cheers of the children out on the pitch inaudible for a few seconds, its horn signalling twice. For residents it was a sound they knew, the train driver warning traffic on Chemin Du Plan-Bouchard it was coming.

The batter, a small boy with a tinted skin, stood near home-base. His clothes providing him with warmth his little body wasn't able to generate, but hindering his movements, the bat lay heavily on his fragile shoulder, and with great effort he swung it towards the ball the pitcher threw. With a dull thud leather hit aluminium as the ball bounced of the bat towards mid-field.

"Allez, Pascal, courir à la première base! _(Come on, Pascal, run for the first base!)"_ his father cheered, pressing the boy forward when he was still deliberating what to do next. Pascal dropped his bat and as fast as he could, he started running down the white chalk-line that led him to the second-base.

His team-mates yelled he should press forward, the mid-fielders had trouble to get the ball, and he could very well make it to third. He looked back to his father, not sure whether he should. "En avant, Pascal, à la deuxième, c'est possible! _(Go on, Pascal, to the second, it's possible!)"_ Determination set on his face, and putting his tongue out he ran, when half-way he was tackled by one of the mid-fielders.

He hit the ground hard, his body rolling over the gravel, the dry material clouding as he did, his helmet bouncing off his head. His sight blackened a little, narrowing through the impact and Pascal felt dizziness set in. Quickly followed by tears.

"Maudit! Ça c'est un faute! _(Damned, that's a fault!)"_ he heard his father's voice piercing through the wheezing sound in his ears, as he tried to get up. His opponent, just as small as him, offered him his hand, his face somewhat pale as he obviously was as shocked as little Pascal was. "M'excuse, Pascal. _(I'm sorry, Pascal)"_

The boy's father sat down again on the bench he had been sitting on, when his cell-phone rang. He reached inside his pocket and took it out. He stared at the digits on the screen: nombre inconnu _(Number unknown)._ He pressed receive.

"Mahmood Ibn-Aziz?"

His heart stopped for a fraction of a second, a shiver ran from the top of his head down his spine when he heard the name. He closed his eyes. His past had caught up with him, the same past he had tried to flee from. He went by Bernard Moussedeq now, at least the Canadian passport he had said so. So did his driving license, and the signature on the mortgage of the suburban Rue De Maricourt house he shared with his Canadian wife Michelle.

After September 11th 2001 no one had called him Mahmood Ibn-Aziz anymore.

"Je crois que vous devez vous être trompés, _(I think you're mistaken)"_ he said, trying to suppress the quiver in his voice.

"Le temps est venu, nous avons besoin de toi, _(It's time, we need you)"_ the dark-timbre on the other side of the line said. "Ecoute bien, Mahmood. _(Listen carefully, Mahmood)"_ And then he said the three words former-Bernard-now-Mahmood feared to hear knowing he would never see Pascal growing up now he had. "Barsaat Salagna Allahu, Mahmood. C'est la volonté d'Allah. _(It's Allah's Will)"_


	7. Chapter 7

**FBI DC Field Office, J. Edgar Hoover FBI Building, Room 3311-3315**

**935 Pennsylvania Avenue Northwest, Washington DC, November 3****rd**** 2006, 8.45 AM**

* * *

"GOOD MORNING," Sue said as she walked into the Bullpen, her blonde hair graciously falling down her two-piece suit. Through the Venetian blinds the sun's rays pierced into the room, partially lighting her desk. A golden-furred dog she held on a leash stopped next to it as she sat down. "Levi down." The Golden-Retriever did as she told.

"Good morning," came the reply of the tall, dark-blonde agent from his desk just across the room. "Haven't seen Jack have you?" he asked.

"No, Bobby, I haven't, should I?". Bobby Manning, Australian-born from an American father, grinned mischievously. "I don't know what you did to him, Susan Thomas, but the man's practically dying." Sue furrowed her brows a little, but then realisation dawned. She began to smile. "That bad?"

"Worse," Jack said as he walked into the office, his walk more resembling a pitiful drag then the usual lively pace. His jaw clenched a little, his eyebrows drew as he carefully sat down on his chair. He leaned backward against the back of his chair and a relieved smile danced around his lips as he did, eyes closed momentarily. "Oh that feels _sooo_ good," he managed to say with a groan of comfort. As he opened his eyes, Sue was looking at him, her face a mixture of sympathy and joy, eyes sparkling.

He moved his hands, palms facing the body and fingers pointing at each other, simultaneously forward for a short distance. "GO ON, (you) MOCK (me) fs. THOMAS, NONE DIFFICULT CHAIR ME STAY WILL." (_Go ahead and mock me, Thomas, I can handle it provided I'll be in this chair_)

"It's probably for the best the nation's safety is not threatened by any affray that needs physical participation," the blonde agent next to Bobby said. Dressed in a three piece suit, hair neatly trimmed yet at the same time pleasantly nonchalant, Myles Leland III couldn't hide his amusement at the physical discomfort of the dark-haired agent that sat opposite him. The tall Bostonian, Harvard-educated Myles knew exactly what Jack was feeling. The times he had -upon being dared to- participated in any equestrian event, whether it being Polo or Show Jumping, _without_ proper physical preparation were always accompanied with aching muscles in places one had previously never foreseen.

"He's in no shape to do anything else but sit down," Tara said.

"Thanks for all the support guys," Jack said, plastering a fake smile on his face, even though he didn't mind. "Just let this be a reminder for all of you to be careful when going out with Miss Thomas here: she has a tendency to wear you out physically."

The double layer in his words wasn't missed by Sue, who felt her cheeks colour a few tints.

It wasn't really that long ago when the banter would have been the same, but the meaning behind words was vague, covered by the burden of friendship that never went further. She would have coloured just the same, but the wisdom that things said were being lived up onto made it ever so different. There's a great difference between expectations and experience, she thought as she let her eyes travel from the dark strands of his hair over the smooth surface of his freshly-shaven jaw, the soft lips that were capable of wreaking havoc on her mind and body whenever they were on top of hers.

"Hey, I never said it would be easy," she countered. "But since you said you weren't a novice either…" He held up his hands in self-defence. "I should've expected, I know."

"Not what I would call romantic," Lucy Dotson, the team's Rotor, smirked eyeing both Sue and Jack. "To have your 'knight in white shining armour' as stiff as a column the next day."

"Apart from a few sore muscles, everything else is perfect," Sue said to his defence. Her eyes displaying more affection than her words gave away, a message sent for only one set of eyes: his.

"You never got around to explain just _why_ you had to go out and play Karl May," Tara reminded Jack who just made a rather painful attempt by the looks of it to sit more upright. He gestured towards Sue. "Once again, her idea."

"Oh no, you're not going to blame this on me like you tried before," she responded quickly, her finger admonishingly waving to him. "I just happened to say, when we were driving past Rock Creek and saw a man and a woman riding adjacent to the road, that I would love to do that too but had found no one to go with yet."

"Tell her about the puppy-eyes," Jack smirked. Tara began to laugh, seeing Sue's eyes squinting a little, biting her lower lip as she shot the dark agent a chastising look. "Ignore that last comment. I did not make puppy-eyes."

"You just turned those mesmerising hazel ones on me, that did the trick just as well," Jack said. The slightest of crimson coloured her cheeks as she blew a bang of blonde hair away that had fallen for her eyes, she pushed it back behind her ear as it slid back again, in that instant revealing the gracious curves of her neck he could picture by heart after pressing his lips on that very spot just a day before. The time she took to respond to his comment was evidence enough his words had found the destined spot: her heart. He smiled.

"Anyway," she continued, keeping her eyes away from him while desperately trying to fight the blush that had crept on her cheeks from expanding too much, "then he said the fateful words: I would love to ride with you. It has been a while since I did." She looked up again. "I simply held him onto that promise yesterday."

Then, with her eyes twinkling with mischief, she focused her gaze on Jack again. "Just as I will hold onto the promise he made yesterday _before_ sore muscles acted up that he would go out again with me." Triumphantly she looked around. "Since you're all my witnesses, he can't bail out on that one too."

"If it's not tomorrow I'm fine with that." He looked round to the others. "Now, if you would all be so kind and start doing something useful instead of displaying this unholy glee over my physical discomfort, I'd be grateful."

"Each and everyone of us?" Bobby teased. "Or do you make exceptions?"

"Only one," Jack said. "And it ain't you."


	8. Chapter 8

**Jack's Apartment,**

**1250 Corcoran St. NW, Washington DC, November 3****rd****, 9.55 PM**

* * *

~oOo~

* * *

He uncorked the bottle of 12 year Laproaigh Single Malt, prominently standing between the few other bottles he kept inside the Cherry-oak cabinet that once belonged to his grandfather. He let his finger trail over the grooves and pitches of the wood, the tell-tale signs and marks of decades of gentle use and the stories of many lives lived in front of it.

He held the bottle under his nose and let the aroma of the distilled liquid wave through his nostrils, like the sea from which Islay shores it destined. He poured a bit of the clear-yellow, almost translucent whitish liquid in a glass and took a sip. The briny, seaweed and peat-flavoured, warm burning _uisge-beatha_ ['water of life'] slowly warmed his throat, and would –hopefully- help ease the burning muscles he still felt.

Carrying the crystal facetted glass that bore his grandfather's initials, he was about to sit down when the sound of the doorbell alarmed him. Cautiously he set the valuable glass on the table and made his way to the door.

Once there, he switched on the outer light and peeked through the peep-hole. He let go of his breath, his lips already curling into a smile as he unlocked the door and opened it.

"Hey," Sue said.

"Hey yourself."

The yellowish glow of the outer light let her blonde hair seem golden, casting shadows on her face and features, while graciously touching her cheeks, the woollen trench-coat she wore. Her butter-soft black leather gloves and boots almost shining bright, her eyes dancing with a warm fiery glimmer. He felt a paw on his leg as Levi greeted him too. With a slight groan of discomfort he squatted next to the happy golden-furred canine to ruffle his fur. He looked up to his blonde owner.

"I wasn't really in the neighbourhood and decided to drop by anyway," she said smiling. He got up again and took her arms, gently pulling her closer and his lips found hers. "Come in," he said once reality set in again after breaking the spell her lips had cast seconds before.

"I brought a small tidbit," Sue said. "To make up for the discomfort of today and as a thank you for yesterday." She gave him a bottle of Heidsieck Bluetop Monopole. He smiled, "see I wasn't lying when I said I didn't mind one particular person having a bit of fun on my behalf."

Sue arched her brows, smile dancing on her lips. "Hmm, you did, didn't you?"

He took her coat, and let his eyes wander over her features, the blue Hermes v-neck cashmere woollen top accentuating her light skin, leaving her neck beautifully exposed and the fine platinum-gold necklace with crucifix she wore. The tip of the cross a gentle reminder of the cavity of her curves hidden by fabric directly underneath, her black skirt stopped just above her knees partially disguising her endless legs yet through the split giving a glimpse of what was meant for his eyes and touch only.

"You're beautiful," he said. Sue smiled, dipping her head for just a fraction of a second. The blonde waves of her hair cascading down her shoulders with the motion. "THANK YOU," she said. She walked in front of him to the living room, the heels of her boots sensually clicking on the parquet floor. Sue put the bottle of Champagne on the table next to his glass, Levi trotted to his favourite place next to the couch. "I can see you already decided on what pain-medicine you would take," she joked.

"Ha-ha," he chimed. "You haven't come this way to extend reminding me of my condition, have you?"

"No," she said. "My intentions are the exact opposite." She motioned for him to come over, and while he sat down, she collected two glasses from his cupboard. "You know the way to my cutlery and glasses a little too well, Miss Thomas," he quipped. "Been here often lately?"

She put the glasses on the table and sat next to him, hooking one of her legs under the other. "Not as often as I would like," she said as she looked him in his eyes. She leaned over to him and kissed his temple. "Lean back a little," she said, and so he did. She began to massage the muscles of his shoulders and lower neck. He closed his eyes as he felt the softness of her gentle hands warming him. He let out a satisfied moan as she eased his pain, in the same instant as she poised his soul. "Don't stop," he whispered.

"I didn't hear you," she teased.

"Then dismiss the comment." He made an attempt to get up, but Sue's hand on his chest made him lie down again. "I'll get it."

A gentle 'plop' accompanied the cork being pulled from the bottle, and he watched as the fizzy white-golden liquid bubbled in the glasses. Sue gave him his glass and held hers close by. "Thanks for joining me yesterday. It meant a lot to me."

"WELCOME," he said.

"You mean a lot to me," she continued as she let her fingers trail through his hair. "So, it's also a toast to 'us', and my love for you."

"Which is reciprocated just the same, you know." She smiled. "I know."

"I'm not in any shape to let you feel just how much I do." She saw his desire and longing reflecting in his eyes. "I'll hold you to showing me," Sue said, her voice a little husky.

He turned his head a little and kissed her longingly. "Stay with me, tonight."

She answered with the best response he could think of as her lips captivated his.


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: It's been well over... well, it's been too long since I've posted ANYTHING on this one, let alone other ones, to be able to sound sincere as I say: I'm sorry for the delay. Life, liberty and the pursuit of numerous other things have stood in the way of updating, writing, considering and what not in the FanFic department. But let us not indulge into the circumstances and present thee a fresh new chapter! You might want to start from the beginning, and in fact, I did myself, to put things in perspective again. For those who're still paying attention a deep-hearted thank you!_**  
**

* * *

**MetroRail Red Line, Farragut North Station,**

**1001 Connecticut Ave NW, November 7****th****, 7.51 AM**

* * *

A steady drizzling rain tickled on the windows of Bus 16Y heading east to Union Station on K Street NW. Drops of water flowed together and formed tiny streams of water down the glass. The streetlights cast a filtered shine through the condensed windows, but vaguely he could make out the brown entrance sign marked with a big white 'M'. The bus halted near the North-eastern corner entrance of Farragut North on K street, where he had to get out. Careful, to avoid stepping into a puddle, he got off the bus.

The warmth and humidity of the bus' interior and its wet passengers was substituted by the chilling wind and the steady stream of water trailing down the sky. He pulled his Redskins cap a little downwards over his face and hurried towards the entrance and down the stairs, amidst the crowd of travellers and commuters. The brightly lit passages and warmth the Station's heating system generated were sharply contrasting with the grey, dark and disconsolate surroundings he had left just seconds ago.

Passing by the guards near the entrance gates unnoticed, he stepped on the escalator that led him down to the platforms, the rumble of a train just departing echoed through the box-roofed white-tiled Metro-station.

He checked his watch: 07.55 AM. He felt in the right pocket of the moist windbreaker he wore to make sure the equipment he needed was still in his possession.

With a soft 'dong', the automated schedule displayed the next departing train. The 8.07 Red Line RD6 from Dupont Circle with destination Glenmont/Silver Springs throughJudiciary Square and Union Station would be the next train to arrive. The rumour of the crowds passing by, getting out of the outbound trains for Shady Grove, the packed platform left him untouched, his mind only focused on one thing. A soft glimmer pierced through the pitch-black tunnel, and a faint rumble vibrated through the air, an oncoming train's squeaking sound as it took the curve underneath G Street and Pennsylvania Ave (below the White House) bouncing off the walls.

At 8.06, RD6 Glenmont rolled into Farragut, and he got in the middle car, squeezing himself past the passengers that got off the train. As the cars accelerated he walked towards the middle dividing doors of the train and leaned against the doorframe of the emergency exit. Eying the passengers in the car he made sure no one took notice of him as he put the small canister under the seat just as the train rolled in at Metro Center Station on G Street and 12th NW. In the midst of people getting up from their seats, bags being picked up, someone reaching below wasn't suspect. As soon as the train started moving out of Metro Center he pulled the pin from the canister. At 8.11 the train rolled into the Gallery PI/Chinatown Station where the Red Line crossed the Yellow and Green Lines.

He got off the train and stepped on the escalator that brought him a platform higher where the 8.15 Green Line 7 to Mount Vernon Square/7th Street Convention Center from L'Enfant Plaza was about to arrive. He turned slightly to watch RD6 Glenmont depart. Through the bluish flashes the third rail made when the train departed, he saw a much brighter one when the canister filled with highly flammable white phosphor ignited, just as he had planned. A satisfied smile crept on his face as he turned round again, and stepped off the escalator, into the other MetroRail train as it halted in front of him.

* * *

**O/B. RD6 Glenmont, 60 ft. ****Below G. Street NW, **

**Near Judiciary Square Station, 8.12.45 AM**

* * *

The sound of the humming engine and the rumbling wheels on the track was suddenly dampened by a deafening 'whoosh' as the timed ignition detonated the phosphor. A blinding white light seared through the train, blue stars dancing over the ground, setting everything on fire wherever or whatever they touched. The fireball roared through the entire train car, engulfing passengers and interior like a tidal-wave in a fraction of a second, incinerating them as it went by.

All of them never felt what hit them when the life was sucked away from them, burning with the rage of a forest fire. The kinetic energy of the blast was enough to push the middle doors from their hinges, and the raging inferno overtook the compartments with ease, windows shattering. The train kept on moving, sucking in oxygen that fed the fire non stop. As the doomed train rolled into Judiciary Square, already three cars were ablaze. The unsuspecting crowd waiting on the platform of Judiciary Square was suddenly emerged into a scene from Dante's Inferno as the flames that licked the exterior of the train flew over the platform, and bellowing smoke rolled over the ceiling of the station. Papers, dust and litter was swooped up as the raging fire sucked the oxygen out of the hall.

The heat's intensity burning the lungs of bystanders before they even had a chance of running away, or even scream in terror, deafening bangs erupted from the train as the shattering windows of the carriages burst out of their frames and rained down on the crowd. Those lucky enough to be far away enough not to be engulfed by flames, the incinerating heat or deprived of oxygen, started to run. People fell as the mass pushed them forward, running up the escalators, jumping from the platforms, away from the inferno unfolding.

Suitcases, bags, everything scattered as the crowds frantically tried to disperse, women crying, men screaming, children crying and run over. Those who fell never got up again, as toxic fumes overtook them where they had fallen. The wide entrances that led to the streets and upper levels turned into funnels, and not before long they spewed smoke out on the streets. The multiplicity of the smoke indicating its toxicity, and sharply contrasting with the surrounding area.

The few blurred figures that stumbled out of the smoke collapsed on the pavement, choking, gasping for fresh air. Their clothes burned, blackened. A woman ran out of the entrance, the back of her clothes on fire as the heat of the inferno below caught up with fleeing people, she was tackled by bystanders who desperately tried to smother the flames by rolled her over the ground. The stinging odour of burned hair and skin hung heavily in the air, impregnating the fresh morning air with the smell of death and degradation.

As the usual city sounds died away, the cries of the wounded and dying filled the air, in the distance the first sirens' sombre tunes echoed over the majestically lanes and streets of the Nation's Capital as emergency services responded to the call of a tragedy unfolding on an unsuspecting city that was rudely awakened.

* * *

**FBI DC Field Office, J. Edgar Hoover Federal Building, Room 3311-3315,**

**935 Pennsylvania Ave NW, November 7****th**** 08.45 AM**

* * *

"If winter's going to be anything like this, I might as well migrate to another country," Myles said as he took off his coat. "There's nothing more sombre than rain on a dark morning."

"The downside of living here," Bobby said as he spun his chair round to face his colleague. "I never minded winters back home." The tall New Englander raised one brow. "Maybe because the seasons there are upside down too."

"Aw, you can't beat spending Christmas Eve in the pool with a suntan, plus turkey from the barby has a more subtle crispness any oven can't beat."

"I find the idea revolting," Myles commented as he sat down. "There's nothing more pitiful than a Christmas tree that is bleached and succumbed by the heat. Besides, it doesn't belong to the native fauna."

"That is true, it doesn't. However, last time I decorated an Eucalyptus tree, the koala bugger that inhabited said tree was grilled when it mistook the electrical cord for a juicy bite of leaves."

"Aw, poor animal," Tara said sympathetically.

"Bollocks, the bugger cost me quite a few smackers when I got fined for it." Bobby rubbed his chin, pondering. "Come to think of it, I should've roasted it instead of turkey. After all, it was already medium well after I cut the juice."

Myles rolled his eyes, shaking his head, while Tara's expressed horror. "You're not serious."

"Is he ever?" Myles commented.

Just then, the worried and solemn expression on Dimitrius Gans' face had them on alert when the Team's elder Agent and interim-supervisor walked into the Bullpen. "Turn the TV on, Tara," he summoned. "We just got report of a huge calamity on the Metro-system."

The screen flickered on and within seconds all present in the office seemed glued to the screen displaying images most of them could not fathom. Silence fell onto them, only disturbed by the reporter's voices voicing the unspeakable, the lines of the closed captioning burning on their conscience, every letter a white-hot imprint iron.

"…a raging fire in a packed train wreaking havoc in the Metro, leaving many dead and wounded. Authorities on scene fear the casualties will keep on rising as EMS teams are trying to work their way down. At this stage, the fire raging below is still so hot, any entrance to the point of origin is rendered suicidal by DCFD officials. Amidst morning rush hour, scenes are unfolding the city up until now only knew from TV, the resemblance to the London, England King's Cross Subway fire of 1987 strikingly poignant…."

"My god," Sue said, her hand before her mouth, her throat constricted.

"We don't know how many people are trapped below, we don't know if there are any survivors. All we can do now is wait for the fire to die down in intensity before we can even consider fighting it in the station and on the platforms itself," a DCFD Fire Chief said, the severity of the situation palpable in his solemn voice, visible in his posture.

"All right people," Dimitrius said as he turned to face his team. "Prepare yourself for a long day, we'll undoubtedly be involved in the investigation to determine whether this was an accident, tragically as it may be, arson or a possible terrorist attack. Our forensic unit is already on scene, I need you to be ready to go in too whenever needed."

He let his eyes travel over the group of people gathered, shocked but determined. "This will be a nasty and gruesome task, people. Be careful, and watch out for the others' well being, scenes like this can be tormenting."

Dimitrius nodded his acknowledgement to others in the hallway, senior officials preparing for an emergency meeting. He walked out of the office, leaving the team behind catching the latest developments from the ongoing news reports. Worry and concern etched on their faces, they knew that what could easily look like an accident in fact wasn't an accident at all.

"Is it just me, or do you have this sickening feeling it's not an accident," Lucy said after a while.

"It's not just you," Myles said. "It's the line of work we're in that we expect something to be preposterous. Premature as it may be, I think this is an omen for an ugly case unfolding."

"What can we do?" Sue asked.

"Nothing at the moment," Jack said. "We don't have anything to go with yet. All we can do is wait for the fires to be extinguished and then we might be able to begin what we do best."

"So we wait?"

"I hate to admit it: but yes, we wait."

"And hope and pray for the best," Sue added. He smiled to her, but his eyes gave away the agony the simple words created. "Along with the rest of the District."

In the silence that fell, the tickling of the rain on the windows seemed to echo a thousand times stronger, the grey and disconsolate light that streamed into the office resembling a shroud of mourning that had been draped over the city.


End file.
